Time Sharks: Street Sharks X Carmen Sandiego
by BionicGroin
Summary: Ripster sets out on a mission to capture Carmen Sandiego. Him and the sharks chase her through time. They visit Ground Zero, WW2 Paris, and Jesus' execution.
1. Chapter 1

1

"All these people want to know," a voice carried over a live audience as they applauded, "Where in the Fuck is Carmen Sandiego?"  
Four men in matching mullets and suits stood before the audience and rocked in step as they performed the acappella theme song of the hit TV show that combined crime solving with educational entertainment.

What a circus.

"Doo wah do do do doo wah  
Bad um doo wah do do wah  
Where in the fuck is Carmen Sandiego?"

Catchy songs aren't going to bring Carmen to justice.  
Ripster grunted. The clang of metal echoed through the air.

For years ACMEnet gumshoes have been on Sandiego's trail. She has been ACME's most wanted women for as long as the organization was founded and she was the criminal mastermind that ran VILE and perpetuated almost weekly thefts of priceless artifacts.  
The liberal media naysayers insisted that ACMEnet wasn't getting any closer to her and that the arrests of VILE agents wasn't worth the ACME gumshoes killed by roadside bombs or the political opposition faced by the ACME's presence in cities around the world. They even blame the current economic recession on the costs of the mission to capture Carmen Sandiego. Do they talk about how ACME is building schools in these dirt people nations and teaching them geography? No. Or about the free t-shirts and CDs that they give out? The media just want to sit there and bitch. Well, sharks don't bitch. They bite.  
Ripster the Great White sharkman wasn't going to think about it any more - it just got him angry. He tried to ignore the TV and focus on his reps. He was stacking the lat pulldown machine and had an extra fifty pounds of plates hanging off of the adjustable weights.  
But then the Chief's voice sounded on the TV, "Carmen Sandiego has done it again…"  
Maybe they're right. The Chief's been at it for years and she still can't catch Carmen. Ripster's brothers in fins, a gang of muscled shark guys known as the Street Sharks, were working out along side him in the Sharks' secret underground headquarters.  
Streex the tiger shark, always an endurance freak, was alternating between the skip rope and the speed bag. Slammu the whale shark was doing deadlifts with every weight available. He was pressing enough weight to lift a large car. He actually used to exercise with cars but was laying low to avoid unneeded attention.  
Jab the hammerhead was sitting at the pec deck eating a donair.  
"Hey," said Streex to Jab, "the only thing you're working out is your gut."  
"Go fuck yourself," Jab said.  
"Me I got to stay lean for the ladies," Streex said, "I am a ladies man."  
"…She stole Shiro Ishii's bioweapons data that he obtained by experimenting on POWs in World War Two," the Chief spoke, "America needs that data back – they had to pardon a lot of war crimes to get it."  
Maybe ACME's doing everything wrong. But this shark wasn't the type to just sit there and complain like some simpering college student - all Ripster knew was action. Ripster let the weights fall and there was a deafening ring like a hammer hitting and anvil. The other sharks looked at Ripster as he stood up and got off of the machine.  
"Guys, do you ever get tired of just hearing about stuff in the news like how criminals are just running around doing whatever they want?" he said, addressing his brothers, "Do you get fed up of not being able to do anything about it? And all these pencil necks just sitting around talking instead of doing something about it. Well I'm doing something: I'm going to catch Carmen Sandiego."  
Leena, their human companion, stood in the doorway as Ripster spoke. On her face she had a look of utter hurt. "You can't leave us," she said.

"I don't want you to lay a fin on her," Ripster said to Streex as the two of them faced each other in one of the tunnels that radiated from the underground base.  
"Hey," Streex said, trying to mobilize charm that he clearly didn't have, "She doesn't belong to you."  
Ripster leaned in closer such that their noses were almost touching and they could feel each other's breath blasting from the nares at the tips of their rostra. Ripster was thankful that he had pants on to hide his raging shark erections – the challenge to his dominance enraged him, but that very frustration was fed from the same passionate energy dripping from his raw animal impulses. But if Streex knew what his defiance did to Ripster's libido, the Great White would lose face immediately. Ripster sensed the bulge in his pants getting bigger and he desperately needed an exit strategy.  
"I'm a ladies man-" Streex began.  
"You're a shark man. You're not supposed to do human babes," Ripster said, "Maybe you'll meet a mutant babe one day -"  
"You can't tell me what to do," Streex said as he turned and began to skate away on his rollerblades, "You have fun chasing Carmen Sandiego."  
Ripster adjusted his pants and sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

2

"Ripster, don't go," Leena said, "I don't want to have to say that a shark made me cry."  
Ripster held his steely glance, avoiding her eyes and looking past her with unshakable resolve. Her eyes shimmered in the light from the red afternoon sun that formed a sheet of illumination cut by the tops of the buildings of Vision City. She tried not to blink or breathe in fear of letting loose a tear. Ripster could almost feel her pangs of sadness that must have filled her chest.  
"Ripster," she said as a single drop rolled down her cheek.  
"I have to do this," Ripster said, "I wish I could cry too, but sharks don't have tear ducts." He swung one leg over his motorcycle and sat up in the seat.  
"All I'm taking is a knife, a hand gun, night vision goggles, and god's command that I be victorious in my mission to kill Carmen Sandiego," he said and released the kickstand on his motorcycle. Leena stepped back and he hit the ignition. She buried her hands in her face.  
"Don't do this," she pleaded.  
"The next time you see me, I'll be a hero." Ripster lay on the throttle and tore off down the street.

"You don't understand," the ACMEnet Chief said to the massive Great White sharkman standing in her office, "Carmen Sandiego continues to evade us because she is capable of traveling through time."  
Normally the Chief would be upset when someone chewed through the walls of her command headquarters in order to make an unscheduled meeting with her, but she found it hard to stay angry at Ripster's monstrous abs for long. She found herself staring at his six pack more than once, but quickly reminded herself that he's a shark and such things should stay platonic.  
"And you can't follow her?" Ripster said.  
"We have a time machine, but it is untested. There's no way we'd get clearance to put a live gumshoe into that machine."  
"Then I'll go," Ripster said.  
"You?" said the Chief  
"Us too" said Streex, who stood behind Ripster and had Slammu and Jab one either side of him. The other Street Sharks had stealthily tore through the concrete foundation and walls of the ACMEnet headquarters and had followed Ripster to the Chief's office. "Right guys?" Streex said.  
The sharks lifted their fin fists and roared in agreement.  
"But the machine will degenerate your DNA," warned the Chief.  
"Yeah but we've been gene-slammed with shark DNA – that makes us stronger," Ripster said.  
The Chief was silent and pensive for a moment before saying, "I see."  
She led them to a room down the hall from her office. She opened the door and gestured inside to the time machine that took up the entire room. It was a large, flying-saucer-like capsule capable of carrying the sharks.  
"The Chrono Skimmer," she said.

The sharks were ready at the bridge of the Chrono Skimmer. They were buckled in and had their shades on. They weren't trained as time pilots, but there are just some times when you just want to let your shark instincts doing the piloting for you.  
Members of rockappella stood at attention outside the time machine. The Chief was behind her desk.  
"Boot up the chrono computer," she ordered.  
One rockappella flipped a knife switch and electricity crackled through the hull of the timecraft.  
"Power up the engines," she said.  
A second rockappella turned a valve. A dense droning filled the air: the hum of massive amounts of energy.  
"Extend the temporal sequencer."  
A third rockappella spun a fan with his hands while the fourth hit a big red square button that lit up when he pressed it.  
"Now get going!" the Chief commanded with a fierce battlecry filled with vigor and conviction.  
The Chrono Skimmer jumped into 6th dimension where time is cubic and each day is 4-day simultaneous time cube. The sharks felt an almost narcotic sensation as they left their Euclidean manifold and entered a new realm of experience. Jab the hammerhead was snoring at his controls. Streex poked him in the side to wake him up.  
"Jab," said Streex, "Now's not the time to be sleeping."  
Jab yawned. "Just catching up on my beauty rest," he said.  
The Chrono Skimmer carried them through space-time while Ripster piloted the timecraft.  
"The Chief told us that an intercepted communication stated that Carmen was on her way to set charges at a place called Ground Zero," Ripster said. "Where is Ground Zero?" The Great White asked, "Is it in New Jersey, Toronto, or New York City?"  
"New York," said Streex.  
"New York," said Jab.  
"New Jersey," said Slammu.  
"The correct answer is New York City," answered the on-board computer.  
"Yes," said the hammerhead and tiger shark together while Slammu looked down dispiritedly.  
"Okay boys," Ripster said, "Looks like we're going to the Big Apple."  
The Chrono Skimmer accelerated through space-time, racing for 9/11 2001.


	3. Chapter 3

3

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" said Ripster as he stood with Streex on a crowded dance floor full of wiggers and guidos two-stepping and bumping into each other while holding and spilling expensive watered-down drinks.  
"Yeah, it's a nice place," Streex said.  
"I could have gone to shitty clubs back in Vision City,"  
"Yeah but we're at a shitty club in New York," Streex said, slowly rollerblading circles around Ripster, "I think I saw Donald Trump in a limo earlier."  
Ripster sighed.  
"I think that chick's a lesbian," Streex said quietly while pointing a fin to a woman standing by the bar.  
"I really don't care."  
"You're still thinking of Leena. She's probably thinking of you too."  
"I'm surprised that you can be so understanding."  
"Oh come on, you know I love you," Streex said.  
Ripster's heart raced.  
"You know, like bro love," Streex said.  
"Oh," Ripster said, taking a deep breath, "Yeah, of course."  
They were looking for Saddam Hussein, a VILE operative who is believed to know the location of Carmen Sandiego. They followed some tips saying that Saddam was at a club of some sort, but Streex was using the situation as an excuse to go bar hopping.  
"I heard at the male strip club that Carmen's next destination was World War Two Europe," Streex said.  
"Excellent job," Ripster said. He then paused to think about why Streex was at a male strip club. Could Streex also have a taste for males? The possibilities flew through Ripster's head and he was about to inquire further when Slammu burst into the club with Jab trailing behind.  
"We spotted Saddam Hussein at the World Trade Center," Jab said, "It looks like he might be up to no good."  
"You mean I spotted him," said Slammu, "Jab was asleep in a porno theater after eating two extra large burger-and-fries-pizzas."  
"Wait is that like a pizza burger? Like a burger that uses pizzas as buns?" Streex asked, "Or is it a pizza with burger and fries as toppings?"  
"It was good is what it was," Jab said.  
"Guys we have to go after Saddam," Ripster said.  
They raised their fists to the air and bellowed a battle cry, "Let's Shark Attack!"

The sharks scoured the Twin Towers in search of Saddam Hussein. They found him near the top, drilling a hole into a wall with a tangled mass of wires at his feet. He turned to face them and smiled.  
There was a loud detonation that rumbled through the building.  
"Someone set us up the bomb!" said Streex.  
Saddam laughed. "I have hidden bombs in several buildings in this area," he said, "I will detonate them all, destroy the heart of America's economic machinery, and cripple this nation's economy for decades to come."  
"I think it's time for a feeding frenzy," Ripster said.  
"Prepare to face the power of Saddam," Hussein said. He did a backflip and split into four copies of himself. "Using the Shadow Fist technique I have created three lookalikes," said one of the Saddams. "You will never guess which Saddam is the real one," said another.  
"We're just going to have to kill all of them," said Streex.  
The sharks and the Saddams did met each other in combat. The Saddams grew Gigadrills from their arms and attacked the sharks with their drills. Slammu punched the floor and caused an earthquake that stunned the Saddams while the other Sharks bit the Husseins' drills off. Powerful jets of acid blood blasted out of the Saddams' wrists after the drills were bitten off. Jab opened his mouth and drank the acid blood – all the chocolate milk he drank earlier would neutralize the acid blood. The Saddams regrew their arms and continued fighting. Ripster's shark senses told him that he had the real Saddam and managed to back him into a corner.  
"You have no where to run Saddam," Ripster said.  
The real Saddam pulled a magical flute from his trousers. He played a mystic tune with a haunting melody. Suddenly two airplanes flying through New York airspace altered their courses and headed straight for the Twin Towers, summoned by the magical power of the flute.  
Within seconds the building was rocked was a massive explosion. A plane had just flown into the building.  
"Don't worry," said Ripster, "The foundation of this place is made of high-grade steel - an airplane isn't going collapse this building."  
"But you forget about my bombs," said Hussein, "I have already activated the self-destruct sequence. Make what time you have."  
Ripster charged at Saddam and bit his abdomen open. The moustached man's guts spilled out on the floor and he fell on to his back, futilely using his hands to shovel his intestines back into his opened body.  
The other sharks had destroyed the shadow copies of Saddam and now joined Ripster in a ring of sharks looking down at the dying man.  
"At least some of my copies are still alive in Bagdad to continue stockpiling weapons of mass destruction," Saddam said.  
"We know that Carmen is going back to World War Two," Ripster said, "We want to know where."  
Saddam laughed. "Since it makes no difference to me now, I will tell you," Saddam said, "She said that she was going to the first European country to have a case of AIDS."  
"And that is?" Ripster said.  
Saddam was already dead.  
"Oh shit," said Streex, "The bombs!"  
No sooner did the sharks realize their plight did the network of explosives hidden in the building begin to detonate. The building began to crumble, spitting up a cloud of smoke and fine debris as the floors of the building stacked atop each other in a column of falling steel and concrete. Riding on four slabs of concrete that crested on a fluid wave of disintegrating rubble, the Street Sharks surfed down the collapsing World Trade Center. Ripster and Streex high-fived each other in mid-air as they surfed the grey tsunami of debris. The sharks made it to the street in safety, their slabs of concrete slowly grinding to a stop as they slid against the city street, while horrified onlookers watched the first tower come down.  
"Oh my god," said a woman with a slight-yet-slow drawl as she watched the building collapse, "Oh my god."


	4. Chapter 4

4

The sharks were aboard the Chrono Skimmer with a map of World War Two Europe displayed on the viewscreen.  
"Saddam said that Carmen was heading to the first European country with AIDS," Ripster said, "That could be England, France or Belgium."  
"I say France," Streex said.  
"Yeah me too, France," agreed Slammu.  
"Okay France it is," Ripster concluded.  
"Aww, I said England" Jab said.  
The Chrono Skimmer went into overdrive, tearing through spacetime to get to WW2 France.

Ripster was strolling through 1940's Paris, back before it was congested with tourist shops and kebab stands. Back when the only people who could afford to visit or immigrate were rich people and the French. Ripster sometimes pondered what the city would look like in his day if the Germans had never left. He admired the cobblestone street and the smelly green water flowing beneath the bridges. He admired the Eiffel tower from afar - he was able to see it without the imposing high rises that would be built in the next half century. The other Street Sharks were trying to locate Kommadante Scheisse, an SS officer and an agent of VILE that divides his loyalty to Hitler with that to Carmen Sandiego. They found the loot, stolen Nazi gold, and they obtained a British warrant for his arrest, so all they had to do was find Scheisse. Ripster was exhausted and worked many sleepless nights to get this far. He felt he had earned a break, even if it was just a few hours of wandering the city in an insomniatic state. Ripster felt that the lack of sleep was messing up his head: he could swear that a lady walking toward him looked exactly like Leena. It was Leena.  
"Leena," Ripster said and he ran toward her.  
"Ripster," Leena replied, "I've followed you through time. I can't stand to be apart." She ran towards him and they hugged each other. She pressed her body close to his and gave him a warm pussy hug, pressing her hips into his jeans as he wrapped his massive frame around her, cloistering her body within his huge arms.

In a dirty room of a seedy motel in the whore district of Paris (most of the city) Leena and Ripster, hidden away from the world and the worries it brings, undressed. She unbuttoned his jeans and deftly slid her hands around his waist before tugging his pants down his wide-framed yet lean hips. The briny scent of his rough, oily shark skin filled her nostrils. "I've always wondered," she said, "If certain parts of your anatomy got gene-slammed along with the rest of you." No sooner did her widened eyes gaze upon the answer did Streex come out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, one arm around a painted, French whore and a handsome, young Nazi soldier in the other.  
There was a fivesome.  
The Nazi twink dropped a tip that Scheisse was going to be returning to France that night and under the duress of sexual torture he further revealed the location of a secret bunker under the streets of Paris that served as Scheisse's operating base. Leena begged the sharks to stay, but their duty drew them away from her.  
"We're too close to Carmen to let her slip through out fingers now," Ripster said.  
"You're never going to catch her," Leena said coquettishly as she lay on the bed and curled herself in the whorehouse blankets, "Carmen seems to always be one step ahead of you."  
"We practically got her," Streex said, "Once Kommadante Sheisse squeals, we'll find out where she's hiding."  
"Let's shark things up!" Ripster announced and the two sharks punched through the walls of the building in a bee-line path for the bunker.  
"Have fun," Leena said as she turned to her side and shut her eyes.

The Street Sharks were mopping up the Nazi guards in the hidden subterranean bunker. Their commander was somewhere and the sharks figured the best way to get to show himself was to kill all his minions. They were in office covered in maps and tabletop battlefield mocks-ups. A flight of stairs led from the floor of the office up to catwalk and an iron door, which was suddenly blasted off of its hinges. Through the entrance at the top of the stairs entered a tall, hulking man in grey trousers and a jacket adorned with Iron Crosses, black, knee-high riding boots, and an SS officer's cap with a golden eagle with wings spread and resting on the crown and overlooking the visor of the hat. A monocle rest on his eye, held in place by the creases of his wrinkled, old skin, and behind it dark eyes filled with dark intent.  
"I am Kommadante Scheisse," the man said, "I have returned from the Algerian campaign where I have worked directly with the Desert Fox General Rommel. Who may I ask are you? Or better yet, why are you here?"  
"Let me handle this guys," Ripster told his allies. He then stepped forward and addressed the Nazi, "We are here to fucking kill you."  
"Very well," Kommadante Scheisse threw his cape off of his shoulders and raised his hands in the air, "But be prepared for my Nazi Magic." The ghosts of past Aryan heroes rose from their slumber and surrounded the sharks, a pale light shimmering off of their chalky white bodies that were bleached and dusty with the sleep of death.  
"Let's FINish these guys," Streex yelled as the sharks dove into a battle frenzy and the heroes of Aryan might came at them with holy lances and swords while wearing the armor of god. The sharks, standing in a ring with their backs to each other, bit their enemies to pieces and tore them into ectoplasmic shreds, but the foes that were destroyed were replaced with new waves of undead holy warriors. Kommadante Scheisse cast a swastika shaped fireball that scattered the sharks' formation. Now separated from each other the sharks struggled as they were ganged up upon by the Aryan ghosts. While the rest of the sharks fought to keep the hordes of undead knights at bay, Ripster worked his way through the battlefront until he was face to face with Scheisse.  
"So the Yanks and the Tommy's send sharks at us now," said Scheisse, "I should give my compliments to your Churchill for his ingenuity. Unfortunately you will not live to deliver my words to him." The Nazi commander attacked with a brutal fighting style. Polished black riding boots flew into the air in a flurry of roundhouses, spin and side kicks that were followed with sieg heil ridge hand strikes. Ripster dodged an Iron Cross-shaped throwing star hurled by Sheisse and charged the Nazi, but Scheisse effortlessly countered the tackle shoot with a gutwrench backbreaker. He put his foot down on the prone shark's snout, pinning the fishman to the floor.  
"That technique," he began, "was the first thing they taught us in Nazi School."  
"There was something that they didn't teach you," said the shark from beneath the Nazi's lacquered boot, "And that is that I'm a shark, suck my dick!" Ripster snatched the Nazi's foot in his mouth. With a gentle pop he removed Scheisse's foot up to the ankle and swallowed it. The Nazi hobbled back as blood poured out of his severed leg. Scheisse fell to the ground, his stump pissing blood onto the cold concrete floor of the bunker. The shark stood over him and grinned, his bloody rows of teeth glistening in the dim light.  
"Tell us where Carmen Sandiego is hiding," Ripster said to the wounded Nazi. The other sharks had finished off the resurrected Templars and now stood by Ripster's side.  
Kommadante Scheisse cackled like he was possessed. He gripped his jaw with one hand and the crown of his head with the other. Suddenly and violently he twisted his head with his hands and broke his own neck. His head hung limply to one side with a manic, grinning death mask frozen on his pale face, his monocle still in place.

Disheartened that they had lost their lead on Carmen, the sharks returned to the whorehouse where they left Leena only to discover her missing and a note left on the bed. The note was written on a VILE ledger:

"Dear Street Shrimps,

I, Dr. Paradigm, in collaboration with Carmen Sandiego, have captured your girlfriend and stand ready to cast her into a time vortex from which she shall never return. Meet me at the time and place of Yashewa Bin Yusef's execution and prepare for the final round of this game.

Sincerely,

Dr. Paradigm"

Dr. Paradigm was the Street Shark's arch-nemesis and the creator of the Gene-Slamming technology that was the origin of their powers.  
"That guppy-head," said Jab pounding his fist into an open fin.  
"Yashewa Bin Laden," said Streex, "that's like Jesus's name isn't it?"  
"That's true," Ripster said, "Which means that Dr. Paradigm is in the first century and can be at one of three locations:  
1) Canada  
2) Middle East  
3) Mexico"  
"I think it's the Middle East," said Slammu.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Upon arriving in the first century Roman Empire the sharks discovered that Dr. Paradigm had actually become a member of the Senate and a close adviser to Cesar. Paradigm used his knowledge of future events to earn the respect of the Cesar, who saw him as a powerful oracle. Paradigm stood with the hot sun beating down on his metal exosuit and slowly baking his head within his transparent dome helmet. Paradigm and the Cesar were on the top floor of the grand temple overlooking the city and the chaos beyond the walls – thousands of people amassed to watch that day's executions and the hills were covered with a dense carpet of people like a dark moss growing over soil.  
"This Christianity," said Cesar to Paradigm while reclining on his throne, "This religion of terrorists, will it destroy the Roman empire?"  
The blinding glare off of Paradigm's suit forced all those who looked upon him to squint. Obscured by the reflective shine he seemed like an angelic creature made of light and breathing words with a firey rasp. "Not if you destroy the Street Sharks," he said, "But I am ready to help you – I have a plan."

Upon the Street Sharks discovering that they had to get a warrant for the arrest of Senator Paradigm, Jab was sent to the task of obtaining it from the local hegemon. A tip on the street said that the stolen bioweapons data was sealed in a cave outside of the city, Slammu volunteering to unseal the cave and retrieve the loot. Streex went after the crook, Paradigm, who resided at his villa outside Jerusalem. Ripster received a letter by rider stating that Leena was tied to a time bomb that would open a vortex and suck her into a temporal drift, loosing her through time forever. She and the bomb were located in a field just outside of the city.

Ripster made his way against the traffic heading toward the execution site. His strides were the brisk quickened gait of someone filled with determination and stress. Children played with young dogs while their parents urged them forward so that they can watch the spectacle before it was done. Ripster came to the valley described to him in the letter but found no bomb, no vortex, and no Leena. He turned and looked around him. His gills flared as he huffed in frustration, his emotions writhing in the sting of betrayal. "The letter said she'd be here," he said in outraged desperation.  
Rows of armored men emerged over the hills, their spears and red-plumed helmets poking into the blue sky like jagged teeth. Dr. Paradigm descended from the hill in front of Ripster, the majestic sheen of Paradigm's metal exosuit in the afternoon sun punishing the eyes of all those who dared to look directly at him. Paradigm held up his arms and the centurions saw him and gave their signals to their men. Slammu, Jab, and Streex were brought forward – they were tied to crucifixes and being led by infantry. Hundreds of arrows and spears were pointed toward Ripster.  
"Dr. Paradigm," Ripster said, "I should have known it was a trap and that you'd be behind this. Why are you working with Carmen Sandiego?"  
"Ms. Sandiego," Paradigm began, "Obtained for me the bioweapons data from the World War Two warcrimes medical experimentation camps, which was kept hidden in US vaults for years. With this data I can build a Gene Slamming Bomb so powerful that it will mutate the entire world into grotesque monsters under my command."  
"Where's Leena?" Ripster said, "Where's the time vortex bomb? I am going to stop you and get her back."  
"Not likely considering that I pushed Leena into the time vortex roughly fifteen minutes ago," Paradigm said.  
Ripster clenched his fists.  
"We have your timecraft captive and I have already taken the liberty of going through your possessions," said Dr. Paradigm holding Ripster's backpack one of the arms of his metal pressure suit, "You have come to face me in mortal combat with me but all you have brought is a knife, a handgun, and a bible."  
"I couldn't find night vision goggles," Ripster said.  
"You won't need night vision to see that you are unprepared to fight me," Paradigm said as he rummaged through Ripster's bag and took its contents out. "I'll tell you what. You can have the knife and the bible," Paradigm said, "and I'll take the handgun."  
Dr. Paradigm tossed the knife and the bible to Ripster, who stooped over and picked them up.  
Paradigm pulled back the hammer on the gun and said, "Any time you're ready."  
Ripster stared Paradigm in the eye and the scientist smiled smugly from inside his exosuit's fishbowl helmet dome.  
Ripster threw the knife at Paradigm, who reflexively fired a shot at the shark. The shark deflected the bullet with the bible like the book was a shield. The knife was embedded deeply in the man's chest, right below his sternum and having plunged right through the exosuit's titanium plates.  
"No. That didn't just happen," exclaimed the man before falling forward on the floor, dead. Blood poured out of his mouth and filled his fishbowl helmet, hiding his face in a crimson pool.  
The Cesar laughed from atop a sedan chair being carried by slaves. He sat at the summit of a large hill and looked down upon the drama unfolding below him. He held out his fist for his men to see. The legion readied their lances and arrows, ready to slay the sharks. The Cesar pressed his thumb into the sky - he gave the sharks a thumbs-up. The soldiers lowered their weapons. "It looks," said the Cesar, "That I was deceived by a false prophet and that the Street Sharks are the true champions."

The sharks returned to their home in the sewers of Vision city. They were crippled with fatigue and flew to their beds the moment they returned. The Chrono Skimmer was returned to ACMEnet's headquarters for further testing. Every other lead they had concerning Carmen Sandiego's activities and whereabouts had dried up. Ripster lay dead still in his bead, his body too tired to toss and turn in response to his tortured dreams. He dreamt of walking the ancient streets of the Roman empire and catching glimpses of Carmen's red trenchcoat in his peripheral vision as she turned corners and disappeared behind alleys, always one step ahead of him. He chased her and he chased her, but she danced ahead of him like an apparition with no mass, unable to grasp her or feel her touch. He got up in the middle of the night after two hours of sleep and went to his office for a drink of hard liquor. On his desk he saw a note written on a VILE ledger … in Leena's handwriting:

"You were closer than you ever knew. Sharks may be kings of the oceans and streets, but I will forever rule time. I will forever rule your heart.

XOXOX C.S."

Ripster sat down in his chair and the placed the letter back on his desk. He opened a drawer and took a flask from inside it. He unscrewed the lid and took a stiff drink of pure grain alcohol. It would have killed human, but a shark's liver takes up twenty-five percent of his body mass. A convenient statistic – it would allow Ripster to get drunk in the night and be ready for the gym in the morning.


End file.
